


Winter

by Taliesin19



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, F/M, Grief, wankst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-02
Updated: 2020-09-02
Packaged: 2021-03-06 23:15:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,258
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26247010
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Taliesin19/pseuds/Taliesin19
Summary: GYWM Prequel. Harry struggles to cope in more ways than one with the untimely death of his wife and mother of his three children.
Relationships: Harry Potter/Ginny Weasley
Comments: 11
Kudos: 36





	Winter

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Harry/Ginny discord Wanskt Challenge (wank + angst)!

Harry stuffed his hands in his pockets as a biting wind cut through his clothes, stinging his face and making his breath catch in his throat.

The frigid air was painful, but he welcomed the feeling. The way it made his heart speed up and his lungs expand for just a moment as though reminding him to breathe. 

As though reminding him he was even alive. 

"Happy Christmas, Ginny," he said, hating the way his words echoed stupidly in the empty graveyard. 

Not even a month had passed and already the memory of her voice was growing faint. The sound of her laugh. The look in her eyes. The scent of her hair and the way she felt under his hands.

He wondered if one day he might forget it all together. 

“Stop,” Harry muttered, rubbing at his face roughly. 

His breaths were coming out a bit shallow now as a flood of thoughts was starting to overwhelm him. He knelt down to the ground and braced himself against the headstone, barely noticing the thin layer of snow seeping through his trousers. His eyes were caught instead on the words etched out in stone. 

_In Loving Memory of_

_Ginevra Molly Potter_

_August 11, 1981 – November 29, 2006_

_Sometimes there are clouds of gloom,_

_But these are transient all;_

_If the shower will make the roses bloom,_

_O why lament its fall?_

Harry stared numbly at the epitaph until his gaze grew unfocused. It had meant nothing to him the day Hermione had picked it out, and it meant nothing to him now. If anything it had only angered him. But he realized soon enough that anger was exhausting. That _everything_ was exhausting. 

Harry let out a long breath that misted white in the winter air. The cold continued to sink through his clothes, deep into his veins, flowing up into his heart which beat a steady rhythm in his ears. 

More than anything else, he preferred this. 

The numbness. 

×××

Harry rolled over on his side.

Then rolled over on the other.

Then rolled onto his stomach and groaned into his pillow. 

"Piss off," he mumbled, eyeing the clock on his bedside table blearily before letting out another groan and settling onto his back once more.

5 AM. 

Bloody wonderful. 

A whole night without one of the kids waking him up. Without a single nightmare. Without his thoughts spiraling out of control and making him ruminate for hours on end. 

But now _this?_

_This_ was going to awaken him at the crack of dawn?

He very much doubted Hermione had taken his raging case of morning wood into account when she’d formulated his Twelve Simple Tips to Improve Your Sleep page in his Healthy Living planner. The thought would have made him laugh if he wasn’t also on the verge of tears. 

Harry rubbed his hands across his face and let out a deep sigh. God, he was tired. He was just so...so tired. 

“Piss off,” he said again, sounding pathetic to his own ears. He adjusted himself to relieve some pressure and clenched his teeth tight. “Piss...the fuck... _off_.”

He was usually able to get up or distract himself long enough to make them disappear. Grief was a top-notch remedy for that. But he’d be lying to himself if he said this wasn’t caused by something more.

He’d had a dream. A fucking amazing dream that had felt so real he’d nearly broken down when he’d woken up to the reality of the empty space beside him. If he closed his eyes, he could almost pretend Ginny was still there, the flowery scent of her lingering somehow on the sheets even weeks later. 

Or perhaps he was only imagining it. Perhaps he’d gone mad somewhere along the way. 

Pleading with his boner to disappear must be a sign of madness, surely?

Harry swallowed a hard lump in his throat and shut his eyes tight, not surprised to feel wetness on his lashes. There was nothing he could do for it. He was too tired to drown himself in a cold shower. And he desperately wanted to go back to sleep.

Fighting a losing battle, he pictured Ginny once more in his mind’s eye and shoved his hand beneath the covers, feeling somehow sick to his stomach and aroused at the same time. 

Wanking to his dead wife. Harry figured this must be an all time low for him.

He eased his strokes from the punishing rhythm he’d first taken, trying to imagine Ginny’s soft hands on him instead. Her voice in his ear, fingers running through his hair and over his skin, kissing her way down his neck and chest. Down further to the waistband of his pyjamas. 

Harry’s breath hitched at the thought of her mouth on him, and he couldn’t help the soft moan that escaped his lips. His heart was beating so furiously in his chest, he would have been concerned if he cared even the slightest bit for his well-being. 

Instead he focused only on the shape of her lips around him, her glazed over brown eyes filled with lust, and her pink-tinged hollowed out cheeks. 

“ _Fuck_ ,” Harry whispered, speeding up his strokes.

He didn’t want to imagine more. He couldn’t. It felt wrong. All of this felt so wrong, but he couldn’t stop now if he tried.

A part of him wanted this over as quickly as possible, while the other part prayed for it to never end. But it didn’t take long before Harry felt himself getting close. He threw his head back and pictured Ginny one more time with that blazing look in her eyes that he loved. His chest swelled with warmth at the image, spreading through every inch of him. His heartbeat was pounding deafeningly in his ears, and he could feel himself start to pulse. Then with a strangled cry, Harry finally let go and came hard into his hand.

And for a few seconds, he simply lay there, lips parted, breathing heavily.

Then without even bothering to clean up, he rolled over and stuffed his face into his pillow, his whole body shaking with sobs.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, squeezing his eyes shut and burying his head deeper. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”

He punched a fist against the mattress and let out a frustrated yell. 

“Fuck this. _Fuck it all,_ ” he said through gritted teeth, punctuating his words with another slam of his fist. 

_I don’t want to do this. I_ can’t _do this. I can’t do any of--_

Harry’s thoughts were interrupted then. 

His head shot up at the sound of Lily crying, and he cursed aloud before sitting up in bed. Of course she chose today of all days to wake up an hour earlier than usual. _Of course._

Harry used his wand to clean himself up before bracing his hands against the edge of the bed and staring down at the floor. 

_I can’t do this._

_I can’t do this._

Letting out a shaky breath, Harry stood up. He quickly placed a hand on the bedside table to steady himself, feeling a bit lightheaded from days upon days of lack of sleep. 

He shook his head and then straightened up, making his way to Lily’s room. 

_I can’t do this._

_I can’t do this._

Harry pushed open the door to see Lily standing up in her crib waiting, cheeks streaked with tears but lighting up at the sight of him. 

_But I have to,_ his mind whispered. 

_I have to._

  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Ginny's epitaph quote is from the poem "Life" by Charlotte Bronte. 
> 
> Thanks for reading!


End file.
